Contemplations
by KateToast
Summary: The second his blue eyes flutter open and focus on you while his miniature fingers curl around your pinky, you know you’re a goner. Oneshot. Future. Mentions of ZM.


**Disclaimer**: Not mine.

**A/N**: Fluff. Serious, teeth-rotting fluff, including my favorite SLOZC couple (Z/M). You've been warned. (Also, for those who might not know: CVS is a huge pharmacy chain where I live, and in addition to selling medicine it's sort of like a big, nice convenient store.)

**XXX**

It's love at first sight.

The second his blue eyes flutter open and focus on you while his miniature fingers curl around your pinky, you know you're a goner.

He's tiny; born two weeks early at almost seven pounds. The doctors aren't worried at all; he's going to be fine, he has a small frame to begin with. The words don't stop you from asking over and over again every time a person in scrubs comes in sight if he's going to be okay. It _is_ your job to worry about him, after all.

He's pink all over; his face, his arms, his legs, his hands and feet, his stomach and back. The top of his head is lighter, though, because of the blonde strands of hair. Even his lips are pink, but they're darker than the rest of him, more reddish. You feel as if you could spend hours just holding him in your arms and staring at him, taking him all in.

You remember the last nine months, all the events leading up to now as you cradle him gently in a white-and-blue hospital room. The awful morning sickness that seized more often than just mornings, the constant complaints of getting larger to the point of a house (_which was a complete exaggeration, of course_), the late-night trips to the grocery store or the CVS down the street to satisfy midnight cravings for a very weird appetite.

But it was a good time, too, a life-changing one. Having another human being growing inside of you can make anyone reevaluate life (_and you should know, you've gone through it before_). There are other things, too: excitement for after he's born, watching him grow older, seeing his 'firsts', helping to raise him to one day be a respectable adult. There's scariness, also: worrying over how he'll do in life, wanting only the best for him and being unsure if he'll get it, how the world will be by the time he's older; if it'll be safe. Girlfriends, driving, college, finding a job…

But those are all things that you don't need to consider today. Besides, you set up a trust fund for college for him right after you found out another baby was going to be joining the world.

You're looking forward to the days when he can run around the Tipton just like little boys that have come before him did. He'll learn the fastest route from the basement to the roof in no time, find ways to convince people in the kitchen to give him cookies quite easily, charm any guest that comes in his path, play pranks all the time. Moseby will most likely be forced into early retirement with another troublemaker running around, but the rest of the staff will ooh and aah and love him. Seriously, who could resist this beautiful face?

You try to think of all the things you want to teach him. There's so many that you feel almost as if you need to write them down to remember them all. Obviously you aren't the _only_ one who's going to want to instill things in him as he grows, but you've certainly got your fair share. You want him to be kind and patient, a diligent worker and loyal friend, with just a tiny stubborn streak you know he's going to have no matter what anyway. You want to instruct him on how to share and be courteous and how to sing "_Just the Way You Look Tonight_" because you love that song and you can already hear his young voice hitting the notes.

You're getting tired of sitting so you stand, being careful to cradle his head gently as you slowly stretch your legs, pacing back and forth. He's napping, but fitfully, and you know he's going to be awake in a second. He's got a real set of pipes, this one, as you learned from his wailing earlier. He's going to be a belt-er. But right now isn't the time to begin preparing him for a singing career; now's the time for rest. It's been a long three days since he was born, and the lack of sleep is really starting to take its toll.

His bassinet is on the other side of the bed, and you know you should put him down in it soon, but he's so warm and comfy in your arms that you can't let go just yet. You want to protect him from everything bad in life; he has no idea what's ahead of him, and you want to shield him as best you can. You know that's ridiculous, that you can't shelter a child to the extent that you wish to, but you can't help it. He's so small and fragile.

There have been a lot of visitors today; everyone seemed to have wanted to give mother and child some privacy and peace before coming in groups to coo over the bundle of joy. Flowers take up every available, open space throughout the room, and in one corner there's a mountain of gifts, most of them given by London Tipton, heiress to a string of hotels around the world. That girl sure does love showering babies with presents.

He's squirming now, his little arms moving and his little legs kicking. You think it's time to put him down for a bit, so you tip-toe around the bed to the bassinet and easily set him down. He blinks up at you a few times, those baby blues making your heart almost stop, and then he relaxes again and is out.

But someone else is up.

You turn back towards the bed and smile, setting your gaze on blue eyes similar to those that were just staring at you. Her blonde hair is splayed out in messy curls on the pillow and she has bags under her eyes, but she looks content.

"How long was I out?" Maddie asks, her voice tinted with fatigue. She fights a yawn, but loses.

"About forty-five minutes," you reply, stepping towards her and laying a hand on her arm.

She nods slowly and blinks a few times before looking back at you. "You didn't have to stay."

"Yes I did," you say simply, fluffing her pillow.

She laughs and gives you The Look. "You're being all motherly to a new mother," she jokes.

You shrug and brush some hair out of her face. You can't help it; once a mom, always a mom. Especially to Madeline Fitzpatrick, a girl you've known since she was fifteen. She's twenty-eight, now, and you can hardly believe it.

"Well I wanted to bond with my first grandchild," you explain.

"Where's Zack?" Maddie wonders, glancing around the room and noticing her husband's absence.

"Oh, he went back home to change. Well, I _forced _him to go home and change. And I also told him to get some food outside of the hospital, because I think he's been living on crackers and coffee the past three days." I move around back to the chair I was in earlier and sit down. "I'm sure he'll be back soon."

She's turned her head the other way, staring at the bassinet intently. You remember the feeling well; not being able to look away.

"Samuel Zachary Martin," you say, contemplating it. Maddie looks at you. "I really like the name."

"Well Zack didn't want him to have his first name for Sam's middle name, but I wore him down," Maddie tells you.

"He's really beautiful, sweetie," you add a moment later, and your daughter-in-law grins.

"It's all in the genes, _Grandma_," she says, and you swat her arm at the compliment.

Samuel stirs in his bassinet and Maddie sits up, tiredly swinging her legs over the side of the bed and setting her feet on the floor. She stands and steps over to him, looking down at him as you sigh. There's so much ahead of him, so much you want to tell and teach him.

You're so happy to be a grandmother.

**XXX**

_End._


End file.
